and with 3,900 men attacking, they remained master of the field, killing near 400 and taking 1,500 prisoners. The French General was an elderly man who left all to his Aide de Camp. He was, in fact, the head, and has been rewarded most deservedly in the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The French, it is supposed, lost 5 or 600 men. The number was certainly great, and they were aware of it, for they buried their dead directly, to prevent the possibility of counting. The Bergen op Zoom people say it is utterly impossible to account for the failure of the assault but on the supposition that the English were led to conclude that the French would make no resistance or that they were badly officered. I should be sorry to believe the latter, and yet I heard from good authority that many of these, instead of encouraging their men at the Water post gate, were actually busied in collecting braziers and fires to warm themselves and rest upon their arms. It may be supposed that wading on such a night upwards of 50 yards in mud and water must have been dreadfully cold, but I can scarcely conceive that upon a service so important cold could have any influence; however, never having led an assault under such circumstances I can be no judge. Were I to give my own opinion, it would be this: That the affair was entrusted to certain General officers who were unfortunately killed in the beginning of the action; that no precautions appear to have been provided against such accidents, and no remedy applied to the confusion thereby created--the Columns knew not what to do, each on gaining its point possibly waiting for orders to proceed; that the darkness increased the confusion--in short, that "the right hand knew not what the left hand did," and that the French acted with incomparable bravery and skill. It should be added that most of their troops were conscripts. It is an ugly story altogether, and I shall say no more. A sketch of the works in and near the Antwerp gate will give you some idea of the spot which has proved the grave of so many fine officers and men. At 4 o'clock we quitted the town for Breda--the greatest part of the road inexorably flat and uninteresting; but what is lost in the country is gained in the Towns, villages, and people--they are _sui generis_. For 3 hours did we toil through a deep sand between parallel lines of willows of the same size, shape, and dimensions; then for 3 hours more did we proceed at a foot pace over a common; this brought us to Breda just in time for the gates, through which we trotted to the usual rattle of drawbridges, chains, &c. By the bright light of the moon at night and earliest dawn of the following morning we rambled through the streets. Breda was one of the last towns which got rid of its French garrison without a siege; it departed one night without beat of drum, and the Cossacks came in to breakfast, leaving the trembling inhabitants to doubt whether in escaping Scylla they were not approaching Charybdis.